Bedskirt
by Kaylee Tam
Summary: Sometimes, things aren't as they seem, even behind the curtain.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Quantum Leap in any way, shape or form.

* * *

Al woke up, blinking.

Of course, it wasn't as simple as that. Anyone with any experience in the field of waking up who isn't a minuteman or otherwise abnormal in their sleeping patterns knows that you can't just 'wake up' and be done with it. Much less so in Al's case.

Being in the process of waking up, he decided that the hugely annoying high-pitched ringing in his head was a voice attempting to tell him via long-range telephonics that he'd left something on in the Imaging Chamber, such as a stove or pot of coffee, and that he must get up to fix it, but the voice's message got lost in the malfunctioning telephonic device and so he needn't do such a thing and was allowed, in fact, to stay in bed a while longer.

After that, he woke up and discovered that such a train of thought was complete nonsense and he had to get up because Sam needed him in the Imaging Chamber.

He got up and went about his morning routine, which started with a shower and ended with a newly lit cigar. He wore a shirt reminiscent of a Paisley cushion as well as a gold tie and corresponding pants. He breathed in the cigar smoke, his daily breakfast, and realized that Sam hadn't leapt - as far as he knew - and such didn't need him in the Chamber after all.

Al shrugged and made his way down to B10, where all the interesting things tended to happen.

"There you are, Al," Ziggy greeted him, in her soft, seemingly semi-sedated speech. "I have news. Dr. Sam Beckett has leaped."

He looked up at her blue spherical representation near the ceiling. "He has? Where is he?"

"I'm searching right now," she said, albeit a little irritatedly. "The leapee is in the Waiting Room."

He nodded at her, then at Gushie who was doing something with the controls. He took another drag from his cigar, turned and walked out into the octagonal hallway.

Al stood outside the Waiting Room door, looking at nothing in particular. He always prepared himself a bit, knowing that walking into that room unprepared gave him a nasty shock when he saw his best friend Sam sitting there, either angry, confused or curious. After this, he opened the door and stepped into the blue room.

By the way of adjectives, 'blue' is, in fact, the only one to use.

The Waiting Room could also be described as 'a room', but it's hard to discern where exactly the floor met the wall. It could be described as 'medium-sized', but the size of the Waiting Room wasn't easy to measure with the eyes. Besides, neither of these were exactly sought after in the world of description.

Al stepped inside this blue, medium-sized room and closed the door behind him. Sam was, just as he'd predicted, looking about himself confusedly.

He'd forgotten one thing about seeing Sam in the Waiting Room. While he could see Dr. Samuel Beckett clear as day, there was something else there. It was like one of those classic advertisements that used tiny indents to make the billboard look like one picture from this angle and another from that one, but where each indent was unsure about which picture it was supposed to portray, and to a much lesser scale. There was another man, in any case, shimmering just out of focus from the scientist's face - if Al focused his eyes on nothing in particular, or perhaps the color blue, he could just make out a slightly commanding face with a ginger beard.

"Who are you?" he asked, in something that wasn't entirely Sam's voice but was eerily similar.

Al raised his eyebrows and made sure the door was closed behind him. "My name's Al," he introduced.

"Where am I?" He looked around the room fervently, his eyes both green and hazel at the same time.

"Settle down, you're, uh-" Al put his hand to his head, as the high-pitched ringing had started up again. But it quickly subsided and he cursed whatever it was. (Sam would probably be able to tell him.) "You're in a hospital."

"Why? What happened?"

"We're gonna have to ask for your information," Al continued. "What's your name?"

"Oh, uh..." He stood up from where he sat on the blue floor, his hand against the seemingly nonexistent door. "Rae," he said unsurely. "Why can't I remember... Joshua Rae!" he finally exclaimed, then looked around the room sharply. "That was weird."

"It's perfectly normal your memory might be a bit Swiss-cheesed," Al explained. "Uh, and- but you're gonna be just fine, that's what hospitals are for, right?"

Joshua Rae squinted around the Waiting Room. "Doesn't seem like a normal hospital," he pointed out.

"Uh, no, no it's not. But you're okay, no need to panic. What's the date today?" Al pressed 'Joshua Rae' into the handlink.

Rae looked at him, and thought for a second. "I thought so," he remarked to himself. "It's -"

He had, of course, finished his sentence, but Al hadn't caught it; he was gripping his head as the ringing filled it again.

"Are you okay?" Rae asked. He got up and made his way to Al. "This is a hospital. Maybe there's a doctor who could -"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "One hell of a headache, but I'm fine. The date?"

"It's Halloween," Rae repeated.

"Yeah, uh," Al whacked the handlink when it wouldn't accept the date 'October 31', "What year is it?"

"It's 1964," he said easily. "What happened? Why am I here? Is Mary okay?"

"Uh, yeah, uh, Mary's fine," Al said. "Safe and sound."

The screen on the handlink only read 'incorrect data'. He frowned at it, then re-entered the date: October 31 1964.

Incorrect Data.

"What do you mean, 'incorrect data'?" he asked it, and whacked it again. "Ziggy!"

"Ziggy?" Rae repeated. "Who's -?"

"Look, uh, just stay here, get comfortable, and, uh, and don't worry. Nothing's wrong, we just needed, ah-" he opened the Waiting Room door. "Sit tight, okay?" he finished, and closed it behind him.

"Ziggy!" he called again, from the hallway. He marched toward the control room. "What do you mean, 'incorrect data'?"

"I don't have that date in my memory," Ziggy explained calmly. "You must have entered it wrong."

"Me?" Al asked. "What's so hard to remember about October 31st, 1964?"

"It just doesn't sound like a real date to me," Ziggy said, and, if she could, shrugged.

Gushie looked up at her. "Not a real date?" he asked.

"It's incorrect data. There is no October 31st, 1964."

"Of course there was!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean, there wasn't one?"

Ziggy's cooing voice grew irritated. "I have no record of there ever being an October 31st, 1964. If you ask me, the whole thing sounds like gibberish."

"That's nonsense," Gushie said, typing ferociously into the console. "Dig deeper. There's got to be something."

She made a noise that sounded a bit like an irritated sigh, but how a computer could calculate that noise Al could only guess. "You could ask me to find cake recipes for florescent lightbulbs and I'd have more hope for success. But I'll give it a shot."

Al sighed and walked across the room to lean on the wall. "Not a date," he scoffed to himself.

The console lights flickered a bit, and Gushie eyed them. "Ziggy?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I was right," Ziggy said, but she didn't sound very afraid at all. "There is no October 31st, 19..."

Al and Gushie exchanged a glance.

"Ziggy?" Al called. "What is it?"

The lights on the control panel flickered and dimmed, and Gushie backed away from them. They went out altogether. Then, with a sound like a woman sighing her last breath, the lights shut off.

Al stepped forward. It was dark and quiet. He heard, for a few seconds, the sounds of something faraway powering down, but nothing more.

"Ziggy?" Gushie asked pointlessly.

He heard the clicks of two sets of heels moving quickly toward them. "Al?" called a familiar voice.

"Tina!" he exclaimed. He could make out her face as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and brought her into a kiss.

"Not here," Dr. Beeks said simply, walking to Gushie's side. "What happened?"

He gestured at the lifeless console. "I don't know. One minute, she says October 31st 1964 doesn't exist, the next, she's dead."

"Doesn't exist?" Beeks asked.

Gushie shrugged. "She said it sounded like gibberish."

Al broke off from Tina, keeping an arm around her if only for her comfort. "I think something might be wrong with her, uh, her record access, maybe some sort of security issue."

"Good thinking. We could contact the-"

Beeks interrupted. "All of our contact has been severed. Even the elevators aren't working."

Al blinked at the hall. "What about Rae?" he asked. "He's trapped in the waiting room!"

"At least he'll be safe there until we get this sorted out."

He sighed. "Maybe I could go check out the hardware. It might be some wire that-"

"As I just said, the elevators are broken. Also, most of the stairwell doors are locked."

"Why do you think we have air vents?" He laughed.

Tina leaned on him. "I'm coming with you," she said.

He looked at her and smiled. "I don't think so, sweetie pie. It can get pretty crazy down in Ziggy's circuitry. You might get lost."

She deflated, but acquiesced. "Just tell me what do to, then," she said.

He kissed her again. "Stay here and don't get hurt."

"Are you sure about this?" Gushie asked.

Al shrugged. "I'm not exactly a Ziggy expert but since her creator is otherwise engaged, I'm the best you got. I think I could find the problem well enough once I get there."

Gushie shared a glance with Beeks, then nodded. "Alright. Do you need anything?"

"How about a flashlight?"

He smiled and retrieved an emergency flashlight from under the console, then tossed it to Al. "Be careful," he advised.

"I've been down there before," Al replied, and laughed.

"Don't be long," Tina said.

Al gave her another kiss before heading down the hallway.

* * *

It was dark, of course. His flashlight did help, but mostly only made the place creepier. As he would from now on attest, nothing was creepier than a powerless underground top-secret government research facility. He walked down corridor after corridor, and was only not lost because of his seniority with the place. Getting lost here was as hard as getting lost in your own hometown. Not impossible, but unlikely.

He reached the stairwell, which was near the end of a hallway which ended with a service elevator. He moved the flashlight beam along the wall. Like Beeks had said, the stairwell door looked pretty solid. He sighed and realized he hadn't brought anything with him to pry the door open. Al knelt by it and put his hand on the handle, inspecting the automatic lock. He attempted to grip the edge of the door with his fingers.

"That's not the best way to do things," a familiar voice told him.

Al jumped and dropped the flashlight, whirling around. A man stood behind him, shrouded in shadow. Quickly Al leaned down to get the dropped torch, then pointed it at the speaker. All he saw was an empty hallway.

Al shook his head and swallowed. No big deal. He was probably just beginning to freak out about the eerie darkness here. He turned back around to the end of the hall.

The elevator doors were open, shocking him. It was as dark as the rest of the facility. He warily pointed the flashlight into the small, contained room and found it empty.

"Alright, who is it?" he asked the hallway, "Would ya at least turn the lights back on? This is a bit much for a prank!"

"Who said it's a prank?"

Al whirled around. The elevator was still empty. "Mimicry? Fantastic. You know, it would be a little less obvious if you didn't use my own voice."

"You should get out of here..." continued his voice.

"Or what?" Al shined his flashlight hectically around the area. "Or what, you'll mimic me some more?"

His frantic searching came to a halt, the beam of light resting on a familiar face.

His face.

"What the..." Al began.

"Good morning," he said.

Al gaped at him, stepping back. It was _him. _it was Al. The apparition wore a light blue suit and had a worrying glint in his eye as he stepped toward his original.

"Who - what_ are_ you?" Al asked, not moving the flashlight from his doppleganger's face.

"That... is a long story," the copy said cryptically, and walked steadily towards Al, forcing him back. "I've been keeping an eye on you. I've seen what you're doing." His gaze grew fierce. "And I am not happy."

Al's back hit the wall of the elevator. "What, uh, what do you mean?" he said, finishing off with more anger than he began with.

The suited copy grinned. "Funny spot to hide," he said, as the doors closed behind him.

Al's eyes widened.

"Bon voyage."

The flashlight shut off, and in the next millisecond, there was something that sounded ominously like a snapping cable.


End file.
